


Call

by julad



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Imported, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-15
Updated: 2014-06-15
Packaged: 2018-02-04 17:18:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1786957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/julad/pseuds/julad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"We could all play for the last of the popcorn," John had said casually.  Casually, like a shark.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Call

**Author's Note:**

> Just imported - cleanup and tagging needed.

This is for the [](http://prime-not-prime.livejournal.com/profile)[**prime_not_prime**](http://prime-not-prime.livejournal.com/) ficathon, to tide over [](http://katydidmischief.livejournal.com/profile)[**katydidmischief**](http://katydidmischief.livejournal.com/) until her real story is posted. [](http://sinden.livejournal.com/profile)[**sinden**](http://sinden.livejournal.com/) tells me that the story has been written, but the author is in hospital, so this goes out with virtual flowers for [](http://aprilblood.livejournal.com/profile)[**aprilblood**](http://aprilblood.livejournal.com/)'s bedside.

McKay/Sheppard, no spoilers, slash-lite, 950 words. Beta by Sin, who's as sleep-deprived as I am, so don't hold it against either of us. *g*

**Call**

Rodney knew he was bad at poker. He just hadn't known he was _this_ bad at poker. Four kings! he had _four kings_ , and he'd maintained a _perfect_ poker face despite having _four! kings!_ and only looked at his tragically dwindling reserves of popcorn once, (or, okay, twice, but he might have been hungry!) and had only upped the ante by two kernels, and still Teyla, Ford, Elizabeth and Radek had folded one after the other. In addition to being stupid, mindless, and childish, poker wasn't _fair_.

He knew he should have known better.

"We could all play for the last of the popcorn," John had said casually. Casually, like a shark.

"Major, that's a brilliant idea! Or, I could just hand over my share now and save myself the gut-wrenching agony of having it taken from me piece by salty, buttery piece. Or better yet, I could eat it all myself and save myself hours of therapy."

John had smiled, the one that made Rodney want to make really idiotic decisions that would only end in heartbreak. "Is that a no?"

"Yes, it's a no! Do I look stupid?"

"You're chicken."

"You're _twelve_."

"You're not _man enough_."

Rodney had clutched his bowl to his chest. "You're not going to rob me of what's rightfully mine!"

And then John had actually stooped so low as to go 'bwark-bwark-bwark' at him, which had led Rodney directly to his current predicament. Himself, sweating and fidgeting and breathing unsteadily. Elizabeth, using some kind of diplomatic superpower to make his bluffs collapse every single time. Teyla, who could hit as hard with two pair as she did with two sticks. Ford, who looked happy and guileless no matter _what_ he'd been dealt. Radek, well, they'd once been _friends_ , but clearly a Czech was never to be trusted. And finally, John, who could count cards as easily as Rodney, but could also smile blandly or raise an eyebrow, or curl his lip, or rub his throat, until Rodney didn't know _what_ to think, and until John had nearly all the popcorn and Rodney only a handful of kernels left to bet with. All this, and _four kings!_ But when he did the math, John could still have a straight flush out of the remaining diamonds.

It was enough to make a grown man cry.

"I'll see your two," John drawled, "and raise you two." He took two delicious little round white puffy balls from his overflowing stash, and casually tossed them into the centre bowl.

Rodney sighed heavily, and threw three more in. He had nine left, now. There was a probability of approximately 0.223185 that he was not going to taste popcorn again for _years_.

John threw two more in, with an unfathomable tilt of his head.

The tension was too much for Rodney to bear. He emptied his entire bowl into the pot. "All in! I call! Can we just show our cards before my blood pressure goes critical? I'm under a lot of stress as it is and I don't think Carson would approve of how much this is adding to it!"

"Sure," John said, and to Rodney's amazement, he emptied his own massive bowl into the pot, and then threw down a pair of sevens.

Rodney stared at them. "Oh," he said, in a small, surprised voice, because John could count cards as well as he could.

"Wait." John frowned. "You do have four kings, right?"

Belatedly, Rodney put them down. "Well, yes, but--"

"Good. Congratulations!" John pushed the overflowing pot across the table at him, grinning smugly. "It's all yours. I'm out," he said to the others, standing up and stretching until his shirt rode up over the waistband of his pants. "Night, everyone."

"Wait, wait!" Rodney said, getting up too. He looked at John, who seemed entirely unconcerned. Rodney gritted his teeth in confusion-- he _knew_ he was bad at poker. Was this a bluff? Was that a poker face? He couldn't even calculate the probability that raised eyebrows and throat rubbing meant what he wanted them to, not without knowing what the rules were and what the cards were and how much each one was worth and in what combinations...

John waved and disappeared. The others were all looking at him. Rodney grabbed his popcorn and followed John out. "Major!"

John paused.

"We could watch something," Rodney said, trying to call it-- he was so bad at this game. "And eat the popcorn. Together. Since it was your popcorn, even though I won it off you fair and square, but since you lost to me, I don't mind letting you share it. One should always be magnanimous in --" he trailed off, doing the math. Himself, John, popcorn, a movie, and the others still absorbed in playing. "Okay, is this your lunatic way of asking me on a date?"

John raised an eyebrow at him. "Is that a no?"

"No, it's a yes! I just think your technique needs a _lot_ of work; can you maybe next time do it _yourself_ , and without first giving me a _heart attack?_ "

John rolled his eyes. "I bought you an extra-large popcorn! I think I should get _extra_ points for that."

Rodney looked at him, with the rumpled hair and the tired eyes and the casual, I-don't-care slouch, and then down into his overflowing bowl with the beautiful mountain of salty, buttery, white, puffy taste-of-home. "For this," he announced, sighing with happiness, "you get more points than you'll ever need."


End file.
